Archive:Gurthoon Rotblood
Gurthoon Gurthoon Rotblood is an orcish deathknight. He makes his unlife serving the Master that has given him a third chance at Power. He is driven by his greedy lusts, and his desire for Ultimate Power. He is not afraid to be in the open world, thanks to the acceptance of former Scourge Deathknights into the Horde, and uses this to manipulate those of the Horde. Appearance Past: Gurthoon has had many faces. Currently, however, he appears short and hunched when in public. The skin of his current host is no longer green, having faded from death. It is now a sickly yellow, with his tusks also a yellow tint. His eyes glow blue with necromatic magic, and his skull can be seen on parts on his head. His body has degenerated in many places, but still maintains a magical strength. Most of his teeth have either fallen out or blackened with rot. Currently: Gurthoon appears to be little more than a skeleton. His body, once cleaned of the ash, is now a pale white. His face still has burn marks, especially near the mouth. His teeth are sharp, and his has two missing areas were his tusks used to be. He is hunched over, and his ribs often show, even through his armors or clothings. His finger bones have been sharpened to claws, and his face is usually contorted in anger. Background Part I: Life The babe was born to two now-unknown orc parents. A boy, his skin a rich brown. It looked at it's mother and father with large eyes, expectant and wanting for nourishment. Years passed and the babe grew into a young boy. Kosh'arg Celebration had come yet again. To Gurthoon, the time was uneventful and useless. He frowned as the other orcs played in the land under Oshu'gun, the crystal mountain. He frowned as he was forced to sleep in a tent with the rest of the children. He hated these times. Old orcs spoke in circles and engaged in hunts. Uneventful and everyday events. The young orc often got into fights with others. Unfortunately, Gurthoon was not blessed with the agility and strength by the ancestors. He was often beaten by the others for his angry mouth. He enjoyed the times he would return to Blackrock lands. There he began to grow more intune with the Elements and, less so, the ancestors themselves. He reveled in the power granted to him; so much so, he was often chastized by the older shaman for his lust. He did not care, however, and was only bothered in the fact he must "ask" for the power. But, it was the only way to gain it, so he complied. He grew as a shaman, as he grew in age. He would accompany warriors on the hunt, oftentimes with those who would beat him as a adolescent. He would come to the Blackrock warrior's funeral pyres, and "pray" their spirits join the ancestors. These warriors would oftentimes return to him in visions, and oftentimes they were ignored. Then came Ner'zul. Gurthoon had always respected the shaman, the most Powerful of his kind. He watched as he united the once distant orc clans together as one. He listened eagerly as they told him of a new enemy that sought to destroy the orcs. The draenei. Blue ugly creatures. Gurthoon had not ever seen one in his life, and he perferred it that way. Something about the alien creatures unsettled him, though he would never tell. Gurthoon joined the first hunting parties against the draenei. The elements burned their skin, stopped their odd magicks, and aided in the orc's slaughter. He found enjoyment in these hunts, more than any. Something about ending another's existence...it made the orc feel Empowered. Strong. The shaman did NOT feel strong the day the elements abandoned him. Nearly killed against a hunting party of draenei, Gurthoon managed to end his blue assailant only through a meager dagger he kept on his person at all times. Sweat poured down his brow, eyes wide with blue blood across his face. His Power had abandoned him. His Power was gone.... Gurthoon plead like a dog for months after, begging for the elements and even the ancestors to grant him power. He recieved visions from the orcs who had fallen in his hunts years ago. They looked at him, not with pleasure at his failures, but with dissapointment. They told him the way of the orcs, the slaughter of the draenei, was wrong. They were wrong. Gurthoon, always suspicious of the leadership of the Horde, the legion they were becoming to be known as, eagerly awaited some notice of the ancestor's word's validity. Something to prove them true, or wrong. His warchief, Blackhand, came to him one day. The large burly warrior chief told him of a new way for Power. Gurthoon learned the new Power. Dubbed a "warlock" this new magic was something entirely new. He enjoyed how it seemed to flow throughout him, at his call, without asking, at his WHIM. The power was corruptive, he immediately knew. It was not natural as the elemental shamanism was. But it was better, fantastic! This was Power! Gul'dan taught him well. The wiley first of the warlocks brought Gurthoon into his inner workings, the Shadow Council. Years passed, the draenei were slaughtered, by his and the Horde's hand. He reveled in the Chalice of Rebirth's Gift, giving him a constant euphoria in bloodlust. Power...Power was finally his. He cared not if his people suffered. He cared not if he sold his soul to this "Beautiful One," this Kil'jaeden. He needed only the Power everlasting. Gurthoon's euphoria lasted only so long. The land corrupted; sky now a burning red of blood. He longed to enter this new land, Azeroth, and conquer the land with the Shadow Council. He eagerly followed Gul'dan in his ceremonies to open this Dark Portal. He passed through the Portal, and enjoyed the slaughter of these new smaller beings called humans. Gurthoon waited in his tent, one evening, after a day of conquering. He summoned a minion, a spry little imp, to serve him some of the clean water of this world. When he did not return after some time, Gurthoon grew impatient. "Where is my water, you little rodent?!" Gurthoon scowled loudly. A large thump was his only response. Gurthoon's face twisted in confusion. A body was tossed into the tent, limp and hitting the ground hard. His minion. The warlock looked upward as a large orc entered his tent. A large warhammer was held in his hand, the head covered in a green and black liquid. Blood. Wide eyed with fear, the warlock looked upward into Orgrim Doomhammer's orbs. Hate seethed in the larger orc. Before he could cast a shadowbolt, the warrior lifted his weapon high above his head, and brought it crashing down upon Gurthoon's skull. The Power was gone, black blood seeped out of his tent. Blackness. He opened his eyes again, looking at Gul'dan, the old warlock master. He looked at his hands, smaller and human. Part 2: Unlife Gurthoon looked forward, the eyes of Gul'dan happily satisfied at something. He looked again at his hands. Human hands. They were smaller, thinner...and yet.. And yet, Gurthoon remembered he was supposed to be dead. He touched his face, and felt nothing. He looked upwards at Gul'dan questioningly. "What...what..." The wiley old warlock chuckled at Gurthoon's babbling. "Your back among us, whelp. I hope your death wasn't too traumatizing, because now you serve me again, deathknight." Deathknight. The word rang oddly to Gurthoon. He again looked at his body, and found the name's origin. His body was dead, rotting from maggots and natural decay. His soul returned to this human body, to serve Gul'dan. He looked upwards and nodded, accepting this fate. Gurthoon took the time to test out his new given power. It was similar to that of the warlock...but better. No longer was his body frail, but empowered with dark magic. He found this human he inhabited knew how to handle a sword, swinging it with ease only found in years of experience. He blasted fauna with bolts of Shadow magic, burning their body, but also twisting it into an unrecognizable form. He chuckled, his voice somehow managing to be in existence even with the gaping hole in his throat. He found himself knowledgable in necromatic arts, bringing back a fallen horse from a battle won by the Horde. He found himself to enjoy this unlife, so much more advantagous than his small orc body. Yes, being a deathknight would serve his likings well, even if he had to serve Gul'dan yet again. All that mattered was the Power. It was all he needed. The deathknight followed the Horde into battle time and time again. The humans fought with the vigor of a cornered cat, bringing with them bearded smaller ones, and long eared ones. They all perished easily enough to Gurthoon. They all fell to the Deathknights. Then Gul'dan betrayed the Horde. Gurthoon thought it odd, at such a pinnacle moment for this war, that the warlock would take such a large force for his own workings. Yet, he always knew that Gul'dan shared his lusts. He supposed that is why he kept following the warlock. He had Power, and Gurthoon wanted a piece. The deathknights fled with the rest of the Horde, losing the pinnacle battle of the human capital. Gurthoon found himself on the run, for the first time of his life. The deathknight followed Teron Gorefiend, first of his kind, back into Draenor, as much of the Horde fled. He watched as the Dark Portal imploded, dissapearing and ending the Horde's chances of conquest. The deathknight found himself tailing Gorefiend for years, slaughtering orcs in minor conflicts in his lust for bloodshed. He laughed as they thought of him as an abomination. He laughed as a single nod of his finger would result in their heart stopping. Ah yes, the times were well after the Horde lost it's war. But, oddly, Gorefiend found the necessity to revitalize it. Gurthoon assisted in giving Ner'zul, once the greatest of shaman, now a subdued curr, a reason to lead the Horde again. He assisted in the capture of various artifcacts across Azeroth, to help create portals to new lands on Draenor. Gurthoon thought it would be enjoyable to continue his existence slaughtering unknown lives. He looked forward to it, and taking whatever Power's they had from their dead grasps. Yet as Gurthoon battled the forces of the humans, somehow defeating the deathknights at the defense of Ner'zul's ceremony, he found that plans do not always follow through. He found himself in one on one against a simple footman. Easy enough a kill, the deathknight believed. He ran towards him, heavy sword in the air...and was struck, deadon, in the head with arrow. Gurthoon stumbled back a bit, glowing red eyes with suprise. He touched the arrow, and another came through his hand, forcing his sword to drop. He summoned his magicks, melting the face of the footman, as another arrow flung through his mouth. The deathknight then saw sword rise in the air, an elf ranger, and slice straight through his neck. He felt his power fading, the red menacing glow from his eyes fading. He watched as his view saw the world upside-down. The deathknight's body dropped, and fell to the ground. His head rolled to the side, eyes still in shock. Once again, power had been taken away from him. He cried in his mind as he lost his second opportunity at Greatness. He cried...and was answered. Part III- Last Chances He had no sight, he had no feeling. He could only hear the soothing words. They came as nectar to his mind, filling him with promises and knowledge. He gave no name, this being, but Gurthoon knew. He knew this was one of the Burning Legion, the Sons and Daughters of the "Beautiful One" that the Shadow Council had served. This one gave no name, gave no clue to what sort of demon it was. "You, little mortal, may call me Master." The voice came soothingly yet cold. Gurthoon could not reply, but felt anticipation. What did this Master wish for the dead orc? "You have served so many, little soul. So many that would give you what you desire." The orc's mind raced in anxiety and excitment. "Yes, I know what you crave, as your mortal masters before you did. You wish for that which all desire and need. Power. Control. Dominion over the rest." Gurthoon agreed violently without words. "Well, as of now you have NO Power. You have not even a body to call your own. Your soul, is in my grasp, to torture or consume, if I please. But, you have had two lives to gain Power, to control. You have failed both opportunities. The orcs have failed their opportunities." Gurthoon felt fear, cold and running deep into his mind, freezing whatever existence he had. "Little Gurthoon, little shaman, warlock or deathknight....little orc. I have Chosen many in my time, many to serve the Legion. They have all fallen. Humans, gnomes, and even the elflings of that inceptid world...they have all failed. But you...you have persisted, even through death. You crave it beyond anything, don't you? You would not fail should you be given a third chance, hmmm?" Gurthoon agreed, straining his mind to say words in agreeance and grovel before this Master. "I have Chosen you, Gurthoon, former orc, former warlock, former deathknight, to return to the world where Archimonde failed. I will give you your last chance, Chosen, to corrupt the souls of that world, to eliminate any threats to Fel." Finally Gurthoon could speak, by the Master's whim. "YES! YES I WILL NOT FAIL! I WILL SERVE! I WILL ACHIEVE GREATNESS FOR THE MASTER--" The voice cut off. "Good. Now go." A whirling, unnatural feeling. Snuffed...buried. Gurthoon felt his entire body covered, his sight still not granted to him, nor feel of touch. He scrambled pushing what he knew was "up." A single hand sprung from the wet dirt. The mud began to turn, falling inward as the Chosen rose from his grave. It opened it's mouth, a natural habit of trying to breathe. No air entered. Vision was granted, blue muddled sight. He wiped his eyes. He looked around him. Darkness..a swamp. He recognized this place...The swamp the Horde entered when it first came to this world. He lifted himself out of the mud completely, the rain beginning to fall. The dirt fell from his body, which he finally now began to look at. The hands were large, gnarled and..rotted. He picked a piece of hanging skin and found it fall without much force. He touched his face. Snub nose, tusks. He was green. He was an orc once again. A smiled wrapped around his yellowed tusks as he gave a fierce laugh, loud and gravely. He fell to his knees, cackling with vigour. A noise stopped his laughter, he turned quickly, seeing a single orc. The grunt held a torch and looked at the risen orc with a suprised look. "Lok'narash, orc... What are you doing here in this swamp by yourself?" Gurthoon noticed the orc was trembling slightly, as though seeing something unnatural. Gurthoon felt his vision hued blue, and touched his new eyes. A feeling finally came upon him, magic. He looked down in a puddle in the mud. His eyes no longer glowed red, as his previous incarnation did. They now glowed a cold blue. He looked back up, the orc awaiting a response. "I...I was..." The grunt shrugged "Well, deathknight, do what you would. I don't truly care. Stonard is a small walk away, should you wish to get out of this ..rain..." He began to walk away. Gurthoon was stunned. How did he know he was a deathknight? The knowledge troubled him, and he felt it was best to cut off any loose ends. Attempting to summon his dark magic, he felt a block. He looked at his hand, and attempted again. Nothing. "You were NOT as you were before, one of that orc warlock's wretched creations. You are now a TRUE deathknight. Let me show you.." Suddenly, his body became not his own. His limbs moved of their own accord, as he lifted a single finger foward, pointing to the grunt walking away. A bolt of green energy shot forward, blasting the back of the grunt. He fell, his skin burning. He somehow lifted himself up, and began a rugged charge at Gurthoon. The deathknight's hand lifted upward, as ice shackled the grunt's feet to the ground, causing him to fall. Gurthoon's body walked forward toward the struggling grunt. With a single hand, he grabbed the grunt's face, his eyes in confusion and terror. His face began to rot, in his palm. His eyes sunk into his head, his nose shrivvled away, and his jaw fell to the ground. The body fell and Gurthoon's body returned to him. "Remember these powers, Chosen, lest you loose your chance..." The voice faded and he looked at his hands, seeing at what they could now do. Gurthoon remembered the words of the grunt and tredged towards Stonard. "So the old settlement still stands? Perhaps the orcs ended up conquering these wretched humans..." Creating a Cult Reborn and knowledgable with the events after his death, Gurthoon immediately set sail for this new world of Kalimdor. He peered at the new captial of the orcs, Orgrimmar in curiosity. Finding his way to the shifty Cleft of Shadow, the orc discovered a cult of mad orcs serving the Legion in a chasm beneath the city. He attempted to communicate with the cultists, but was met only with hostilty. Gurthoon then made his way to establishing his powerbase. He stationed himself in the Cleft, finding the naive, powerhungry and simply sadistic . With a formidable base of minions, he named them "daemon" or Twisted Souls in common orcish. The Twisted Souls then made their power known in the Ragefire Chasm, easily slaying the minor felguard lord, and reining in the mad orcs as their own. The Twisted Souls' influence grew to nearby Burning Blade covens across Durotar and eventually most of Kalimdor. Gurthoon's power grew, and his list of mortal minions as well. WARPATHs Gurthoon, in attempting to manipulate the Horde for his own puposes, managed to propogate a number of unwarrented attacks on Alliance settlements and capitals. Under the guise of the mysterious "Commander" or "Glerk" eventually, the Cult fueled the each of the Horde's finest into a bloodthirsty band of murderers. They attacked every race of the Alliance on their own homeland, defiling sacred temples, murdering unarmed civilians and simply outnumbering any defender. These WARPATHs were further used when Gurthoon created the Host. The Host The Twisted Souls continued to end any hope of peace between the Horde and Alliance, ensuring their Legion Master would be relatively unopposed, due to the division. However, the Twisted Soul's mysterious "Master" required more results, and the army that would he would be able to use to make His stand of Power in the world. The Twisted Souls then developed a concotion from the blood of a demon Targash, an eredar, the Blood of an Innocent paladin, and a Tome of Arcane Power from Dalaran itself. The creation became a sentient and glowing blue colored liquid. The Souls deemed it the Host and began to spread it amongst the Horde. It would induce it's imbibers into a frenzied bloodlust, but also keep them in control through the severe withdrawl effects without continued use. As time passed, and the Host continued to evolve, dreams would be given to it's imbibers, showing Hellfire Citadel. It would call them to the old Horde stronghold, giving them thoughts of new Power and freedom from the withdrawls. The Twisted Souls now had their army for their Master. Having this army, they now awaited for the Master Himself to arrive, when the moons and worlds above Outland moved into the proper positions. The Fall of the Host As time passed, however, and more and more arrived at Hellfire Citadel to become the new army for the Twisted Souls and their Master, many antagonists against the Host became known. Groups such as Parallax, The Gigavolt Cartel, Collective and the Ironfang Clan saw the wrongness of the Host, and banded together to destroy it. On the eve of the Master's summoning, as the worlds and moons above Outland moved into succinct position, the Host Antagonist Army arrived. They stormed the Citadel, slaying both fel orc, who now served the Souls, and Host-imbiber. Desperate to hold on long enough until the Master arrived, the Twisted Souls blocked out the surrounding towers to stop any Horde-army resistance. The Host Antagonist Army recaptured these points, signaling the Horde's need for reinforcements. As the HAA attempted to storm the pit of the Citadel, where Magtheradon once stood, they realized the doors were shut and magically bound. Realizing the keys to this door resided on the ramparts and furnaces of this Citadel, they stormed the insides and took from the very Generals of the Twisted Souls: Asand, Sevon and Witch. They took these keys and entered the pit, where they found the Host itself. It had manafested itself, in all it's corruption into a semblence of a demon. They army attacked, and in the end killed and destroyed the Host abomination. Furious at his loss, Gurthoon ordered the Souls to attack the army, using the last remnants of the Host abomination to empower themselves. However, it was simply not enough, and they were wholly defeated. Gurthoon lay on his knees, black ichor streaming down his body, along side the rest of the Souls. An elf called Bloodvale lifted his blade and decapitated the Chosen, ending the threat of the Twisted Souls. In a last ditch effort to save what they could, second to Gurthoon, Vashinoth created a portal with the last of his scourge-lich energies. The Twisted Souls managed to escape, but not before Vashinoth's phylactery was crushed by a female goblin named Lytum. The Citadel was implanted with bombs by the gobin Cartel, and as they detonated, they scoured the insides of the Citadel of any traces of Host. Indeed, it scoured the bodies that layed within it, including Gurthoons. Scattered and Forsaken As they failed their mission given to them by their Master, the demon lord revealed his hatred for the Twisted Souls. He labeled them failures and worthy of condemnation: Death. He removed his presence from their Blood Pact, severely weakening the already downtrodden Souls. The Twisted Souls, making refuge in Kil'jaeden's throne, were sentenced to death. As the surrounding demons lifted their blades against them, they fled, taking refuge in the Nether, to hide from the demon lord and his minions. Gurthoon however, managed to survive his decapitation, abliet barely. His body, having been scoured of any semblence of an orc, still lay unmoving. Yet, a small piece of his essence remained, a remnant of the necromantic energies of his former Master. He sent his essence to seek out Sevon, his only surviving general. He asked him to retrieve his body and prepare a ressurection ritual he knew quite well. Return Gurthoon had his Twisted Souls prepare a ritual of creation, much like the one Gul'dan prepared when he was reborn as a deathknight for the first time. The Altar of Storms lay covered in the bodies of dead cultists, while the Souls channeled the necromantic magics. Gurthoon's essence returned to his body, burnt and scoured. Yet, the ritual was not a complete success, as his body suffered horrendous pains. He could feel his burnt skin, (what was left of it) the unpleasantness of lacking any organs and a insufferable pain in his chest cavity and neck. Regaining Power Gurthoon realized the only way for his power to be regained was to capture the Chosens that were to be created upon his death. He revealed the name of their former master: Nerothos. His plan was simple: Create a Chosen, a mortal for whom to serve his purposes on Azeroth. Create an army, not for the Legion, but for himself. Establish himself as the major powerbase on Azeroth and Outland. Rule the two worlds for himself. Knowing that the Chosen would likely follow in Gurthoon's own footsteps, the Twisted Souls meticulously tracked the new puppet of Nerothos. Discovering that it was not only one but two that Nerothos has created, they learned their names : Teolthan and Krelious, blood elves. They tracked the two Chosens eventually to the Shadow Hold of Felwood. Infliltrating their former holdings, they found the two communing with one of Nerothos' own generals: Doomsayais. Doomsayais commanded the two Chosens end the frail Twisted Souls. Gurthoon, too weak to provide any assistance, merely watched as his generals and acolytes fought feverishly against the two. Eventually, the Chosens were defeated. Doomsayais took it upon himself to end the Souls once and for all. The Souls, already weakened, were empowered by Gurthoon's remaining powers, transferring them to the Souls to empower them against he Mighty Dreadlord. They fought tooth and nail, and when it appeared Doomsayais would lose, he began to use his remaining energies to summon Nerothos into Azeroth to scour the Souls from this realm. The Twisted Souls, unable to penetrate his defenses, seemed to be done for. However, the Chosens, angered at their realization that they were merely puppets in some grander scheme, attacked with the last of their power. Teolthan was battered away, but Krelios managed to burn the last of his energy into a fel bolt that wretched Doomsayais from his plans. Gurthoon, regaining his power from the Souls, immediately took to channeling Doomsayais' essence into the Chalice of Rebirth. He then took the two Chosens to his lair in Alterac. There, the Souls wrenched the Necromantic Power of Nerothos from the two Chosens, and consumed it for themselves. Gurthoon regained his strength, though his body remained physically unmended. The Souls once again had their Blood Pact enstrengthened, and were ready to serve the True Legion, the Burning Legion, once more. Currently Currently Gurthoon ihas returned from his demise at Hellfire Citadel. Using the death knight creation ritual that Gul'dan once employed, the orc managed to return back to the realm of the living. However, the ritual was not as successful without the proper spellwork and Powerful Warlock to enact it. Gurthoon returned, but devistatingly weakened. His body has lost all resemblence of his orc host, and now appears to be more akin to a Forsaken Undead. Personality Gurthoon is quite unpleasant to his minions, revered or not. He is easily displeased and often punishes his minions for simple mistakes, or no mistakes at all. He is almost always frowning and growling. In the open, he puts on many facades; from "For the Horde!" patriotic to acting like a victim in a crime. He is two faced, and is not a trustworthy orc. Quotes "Mak'tir! In Corruption We Grow!"- Call of the Twisted Souls "You dare question my command?" "For the Master, always." "Death to our enemies! Death to them all!" Category:Archived Characters Category:Archived